


From the President's Desk

by ahhhnorealnamesallowed



Series: Zukka Businessmen AU [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ALternate Universe - Businessmen, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Barebacking, Eating out, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Zuko has so many feelings, go big or go home, sudden end, sudden start, this is my first time writing smut and look at these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahhhnorealnamesallowed/pseuds/ahhhnorealnamesallowed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've been calling this the "Zukka Businessman AU": Zuko is worried that his life is going to come crashing down around his ears (again), so he gets Sokka to help him relieve some stress before an important event.<br/>Please read the tags.<br/>This is my first time writing any sort of sex at all, so please help me improve!</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the President's Desk

**Author's Note:**

> I've read and reread this, but I didn't fix the tense mistakes I know are there (yet--I plan to, but if I don't post this soon, I will never post it at all...) Please be aware that: 1. everything is consensual and they talked about it at length before hand; and 2. This really is my first time writing porn and it became a shitstorm of bsdm and bondage and dom/sub and please be aware of that. Also, the end and start are both really sudden but I thought it worked--let me know if it didn't!

Zuko wasn’t really sure how it had come to this.

There he was, bent over his desk, wrists bound with his own belt, gagged with his own tie, wishing he were pressed against the other side of the desk—any other side, just so he had something more than empty space to rub his aching erection against. His pants and boxers were at his feet, the silk or cotton or whatever his very nice and very expensive suit was made of—he couldn’t recall, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but the hands on his hips and chest and the mouth at his neck and ears and back and whispers of that voice in his ear—but that suit was wrinkling and that had seemed important once. There was a reason he cared about the wet spot forming on the bottom of his shirt and it no longer seemed important at all.

Zuko really couldn’t remember if he had been hesitant in the first place. There was no room for thought amid the sensation, the firm grip at his hip, the slight sting of his nipple being pinched, the warm breath and wet mouth all over him, the ache of his hard and dripping cock, the pulse at his entrance as it clenched in earnest. And the pleasure. He was swimming in it, it had overtaken him entirely. But even as pleasure consumed him, he was left wanting. No hands stroked him, even as he shifted forward and back, search for some friction to help end the stifling need; even his ass was untouched, and he was left to hump the air above the side of his desk, trying to reach friction on both sides.

It was his desk, his office, his executive suite, his company. And yet, here he was, unable even to beg for the touches he wanted—needed. This was an entirely new experience for him, to be this pleased and pitiful all at once. Sometimes he would beg and plead for it in bed, sometimes he would be the one to make Sokka beg, but never before had he been unable to even do that.

Tears of frustration burned his eyes, a high whine escaping the confines of his gagged mouth, as his hips jerked in quick, sporadic motions. The hand teasing his nipple, the teeth biting his nape, stilled; the hand at his hip slid slowly up his side, rubbing gentle circles over his ribs. Zuko began to relax again, come down from the never-ending high, whispered words of praise and comfort easing his incredible tension.

“This was your idea, Zuko,” Sokka’s voice, rough with lust and worry, murmured against the shell of his ear. “We can stop if you want. Do you understand? Nod if you understand, Zuko.”

Zuko nodded, he understood. Yes, this had been his idea, that’s right. By this evening his father would be sentenced. The office, the desk, the company—Zuko had inherited it all earlier this year, usurping his father and his younger sister to become owner and President of the firm. He was chosen to lead the business, and his uncle had made sure he was capable, taking him in years ago when he was thrown out of his own home by his own father. Ozai had hated him ever since he could remember, and Zuko had the scars to prove it. It had almost felt like a blessing when he had been beaten and burnt and chased from his home due to his dalliances. Almost. But Zuko had been so helpless, for so many years, and now his father was facing sentencing for corporate reasons—not personal, never personal, always business—and if he was released, even though the company now belonged solely to Zuko, he was certain that any modicum of the control, of the freedom, that he had gained in the past decade or so would crumble and he would be helpless. More helpless than ever before. Because he had finally reached his goal, and his salvation, and now he had Sokka, and god, Sokka was so good.

So Zuko had given his power away. He gave everything to Sokka: his voice, his mobility, his office, his desk, his suit, every single ounce of power and control over himself and his surroundings belonged to Sokka. Sokka could do as he pleased. That was what Zuko had done, intending to find pleasure in this loss of control, to surround himself with a world under the control of an outside force—not his own acute expectations and practices, confined and conformed by his demanding and abusive father, the brusque, ordering voice ever-present in the back of his mind even now, years and years after leaving home—and know that nothing bad or terrible or awful or humiliating could happen. Sokka would never hurt him, never break him, never destroy everything he holds dear.

“Zuko, do you want me to stop? Nod if you do want me to stop—and you’d better be honest, Zuko, or I swear to God—” Sokka paused. Zuko shook his head frantically. “Alright, we’ll keep going, but don’t say I didn’t warn you…” Sokka’s voice lowered dangerously as he bit the lobe of Zuko’s ear.

Zuko keened at the sudden pain at his ear. His hips, which had slowed while Sokka had questioned him, began to thrust with sudden abandon, his dick once again searching for the friction it so desperately needed. Sokka chuckled against his neck, licking and biting his way down to Zuko’s left shoulder, where he paused. Hot, damp breaths ghosted across Zuko’s overheated and sweaty skin, making him shudder, even as his hips gyrated and pumped, his legs shaking slightly, his chest heaving with pants and sighs and whines that were never quite vocalized. Then, suddenly, Sokka pulled Zuko’s arms back with enough force to raise his upper body from where it was pressed almost flat to the desk. While the movement had been sudden, it had also been gentle, and Zuko was so pliant that he seemed to move his shoulders towards Sokka’s chest as if drawn there by an invisible force, rather than Sokka’s own strength.

When Zuko felt his bare shoulders hit Sokka’s chest, he groaned. The small plastic buttons of Sokka’s shirt were cool against Zuko’s spine, causing him to shiver slightly. The trembling of his body increased when he realized that he could feel Sokka, pressed hot and hard, against his hands. His fingers twitched, and he wanted to reach farther above where his hands were pressed, and pull the belt off Sokka’s waist, and tug his pants down his thighs, so that he could feel Sokka’s dick in his hands, against his skin. Zuko wanted that heat inside him, and the moment he felt the slight brush of Sokka’s clothed erection against his hands he was practically crying again.

Zuko tried to stand himself up, wishing his legs weren’t shaking, weren’t entirely out of his control, that they could support him; but they couldn’t do more than tremble, and how he had remained standing, how he was still upright, was a mystery to him. Sokka shifted behind him, and the movement pressed him even closer to Zuko’s hands, even closer to Zuko’s ass. Then Sokka thrust forward. Zukko was able to catch the press of Sokka’s clothed cock in his palms, and the feel of it, the heat, the hard, the promise of dampness beneath the layers of material—Zuko’s mind spiralled at the sensation, and he cried out, his shout hardly muffled by the tie between his lips.

“Now Zuko,” Sokka spoke against the hollow under his ear, at the base of his jaw. “You must be quiet, or your secretary will hear. Do you want to give her a show?” Sokka thrust against Zukko again, grinding harder against grabbing hands. Zuko whined, but it was softer. This pleasure was only for Sokka and himself. “That’s a good boy. Let me give you a reward.” Zuko’s breathing quickened, though he wasn’t sure how that was possible—it had already felt like he wasn’t breathing at all.

Sokka kissed Zuko’s neck once before stepping away from the bound and half-naked President. Zuko whined again, high and needy, turning his head to try and follow Sokka’s movements. But even as his head rotated, his body sagged, his weak and trembling legs unable to properly support his weight without the desk beneath him or Sokka behind him. Rather than stumble towards the desk three or four steps away, Zuko lowered himself to the floor. Or, more accurately, Zuko dropped to the floor, landing with a soft thump as his ass hit the hardwood of the office, his legs sprawled in front of him, his arms still bound with the belt behind his back. He was lucky he didn’t topple sideways, because then Sokka would have teased him and he wouldn’t have been able to right himself alone. Tai chi just didn’t prepare you for that kind of movement, no matter flexible it kept him.

Finally seated, Zuko swivelled his head, searching for a sign of his lover. It took a moment, given his muddled thoughts and distorted range of vision, but then Zuko could see him. Sokka was standing beside the door to the office, Zuko’s view of the man almost completely blocked by the desk in front of him.

Sokka smirked when he caught Zuko’s eyes. “I promised you a reward, didn’t I, Mr. President? What would you like?” Sokka remained by the door, bright blue eyes darkened with passion. He made a show of unbuckling his belt, painfully slowly, watching as Zuko bounced on his ass, trying to see everything over the edge of the desk that encroached on his view. “Can’t see?” Sokka’s voice was his usual teasing sarcasm, but his eyes were serious and calculating. Zuko shivered to feel those eyes on him—those were the eyes of Sokka when he was working: total concentration and focus, his mind calculating risks and strategies and the best course of action to get what he wanted. And now those eyes, that single-minded attention, was set on Zuko, and Zuko had never felt more desired, had never needed anyone or anything as much as he needed Sokka right this goddamn minute.

Zuko whined, high and pitiful, his mouth fighting against the tie gagging him. He couldn’t maintain his bouncing, his thighs trembling with the strain of his burning desire and need. He needed Sokka to touch him, to feel him, to enter him. The thought of that alone, the feel of Sokka’s cock, hot and hard and dripping pre-cum for him, for Zuko, the feel of the head rubbing against the cleft of his ass, against his entrance, pushing in and filling him—Zuko was overloading from the thought, the idea, the memories that had compounded themselves into something almost physical with his unquenched want. He attempted to shift, to pull himself to his knees so that he might be able to flop forward and hump the floor, just to feel something real again, rather than phantom touches and that heavy gaze being levelled at him from across the room.

As Zuko attempts to raise himself to his knees, having been slowly building his momentum, Sokka appears before him. The darker man looks down on Zuko, his belt in one hand, his other steadying Zuko’s shoulder and holding him to the floor. Zuko’s bouncing stutters to a halt, his wide, wet eyes staring hungrily at Sokka—at his face, his chest, the bulge in his pants right in front of Zuko’s face. A shuddering breath leaves Zuko as he stares at Sokka’s straining suit pants, the tightness enhancing the outline of Sokka’s erection, the size and utter hardness of it. Zuko moves to press his face against it, his mouth opening to take it in, heedless of the gag, the layers upon layers separating him from his goal. Before he can do more than lean a few centimetres, Sokka’s hand, already keeping him grounded, holds him away.

“I promised you a reward, remember?” Sokka’s voice remains teasing, but Zuko can’t see the look in his eyes, still glued to his goal. “Is sucking my dick really what you want?” As if Sokka needs to ask, as if Sokka wants anything besides Zuko’s hot mouth and throat surrounding him, always so wet and soft. Zuko nods frantically anyway, hardly understanding the words, too focused on the fact that nodding will let him feel Sokka, taste Sokka, be closer to Sokka than a single restraining palm. Zuko can hear Sokka laugh, before he steps away from Zuko, again. Zuko moans, already regretting the loss, already certain he will be waiting forever to come, even as he climbs higher and higher with every one of Sokka’s taunts. He prepares himself to fall to the side, to fall to the front, to do anything to get Sokka to touch him, when the other man reappears, directly before him once more, the belt now gone from his hand. This fact barely registers in Zuko’s mind before Sokka’s hands are on his shoulders.

Sokka runs his hands up Zuko’s shoulders, across his collarbones, to the collar of his shirt. Zuko starts when Sokka begins to undo the few remaining buttons of the shirt—he had forgotten he was wearing it; he had felt as though he wasn’t. As Sokka pushed it open, the bottom of the shirt pressed damp and heavy, against Zuko’s thighs. He shuddered at the feeling of the cool and drying pre-cum, the warm and wet clusters that brushed against him; and he shivered as his cock, fully erect, head red and weeping, was finally fully exposed to the air of the office, the slight chill from the A/C. The top and back of the shirt bunch against the belt, covering Zuko from wrist to elbow in useless fabric.

But now, finally, Sokka is touching him. Or, he should be. Zuko’s eyes follow the trail of Sokka’s fingers up his thighs, up his stomach, up the insides of his ribs, brushing over his nipples—but Sokka’s touch is so soft, so feather light, that even in his oversensitive and frenzied state, Zuko can’t feel it. Seeing the touch, the closeness of Sokka’s fingers, but not feeling it, almost drives him over the edge, almost makes him scream or cry or something; he’d do anything to get Sokka to touch him properly at this moment. And just as he is about to let his body make the decision for him, not entire certain what that would be or entail, he finally feels Sokka’s touch. It is firmer than the ghosting trail up his body: Sokka is pressing his fingers against Zuko’s neck, dragging his hands up to Zuko’s face. Warm thumbs rub against the apple of Zuko’s cheeks, both of them, without regard for the scar marring one side of his face—and Zuko is too far gone, to relieved to finally feel Sokka’s warmth and skin and pressure against him after what felt like an eternity without it, that he doesn’t even register that Sokka is touching his scar, that he ever has a scar—all he has is Sokka.

Sokka lowers his hands, his thumbs pressing against the damp tie that is held between Zuko’s lips. He runs his thumbs across Zuko’s lips, the touch hidden behind the sensation of wet silk and restraint, and follows the red and gold pattern to the tie at the back of Zuko’s head, almost lost in the smooth black hair. Sokka slowly, oh so slowly and carefully and gently, undoes the knot and removes the gag from Zuko’s mouth. He holds it away from both of them, clutched between two fingers as if it were dirty, which, in a way, it was. Sokka eyes the silk, the designer name on the fabric, and shakes his head in mock sympathy. “You did well,” he murmurs, either to Zuko or the tie or both—it didn’t matter either way. He tossed the tie towards the desk, Zuko’s eyes following his every movement, unable to completely grasp or comprehend what was happening, but aware that Sokka would soon be focusing on him again. He whined, high in his throat, hoping to return Sokka’s hands to his body, gain the much needed pleasure of Sokka’s touch and warmth and scent and taste.

“You aren’t gagged anymore, Zuko,” Sokka chides, looking down at him, one hand trailing just above the waist of his pants, the other hovering just over Zuko’s shoulder or head or somewhere—it didn’t matter, because there were Sokka’s eyes, blackened with blown pupils and hunger, on him, and Sokka’s fingers sliding teasingly over his clothes, along his stomach and treasure trail and lower abs and fingering his button and zipper and Zuko couldn’t keep from shivering and opening his mouth, practically swallowing his tongue with his need to have Sokka in him now. “Use your word,” Sokka commands, watching him. “What do you want as a reward, Zuko? Do you want to suck me off, Mr. President?” Sokka raises a mocking eyebrow. Zuko had already agreed to this, why keep asking, just let him taste already—Zuko moaned and whined, eyes fixed on the straining bulge, the teasing fingers and cruel fabric that kept them from him. Sokka reached out, grabbed Zuko’s hair in a gentle but firm hold, not pulling, just strongly there. “Words,” he reminds the man on the floor.

“Please,” Zuko gasps, eyes never leaving Sokka’s crotch, “please please please please, Sokka, please.” Zuko repeats the breathy whines, pleading and staring, before finally raising his golden eyes to meet the blue ones above him. “Please let me suck your cock, Sokka, please let me taste you, please touch me, feel me, fill me. Oh god, Sokka, I need you so much, I need you right now, please fuck me, fuck me, please please please.” Zuko is begging, almost crying, his eyes red-rimmed and shining. “Please,” he breathes a final time, his gaze returning once more to Sokka’s erection.

“Shit,” Sokka chokes, and Zuko can see the twitch of his cock through the tight material, and it makes him smile a little. Not a grin, or a smirk, but the kind of smile you wear when you aren’t sure when you’ll get a present, but know that one is on its way; the smile you wear when you check the post, expecting a letter; small and anticipatory, and a little hopeful. “Shit, Zuko,” Sokka managed again, the hand in Zuko’s hair releasing its firm hold in favour of gentle fingers carding softly through the tresses, from ear to nape. “You are such a good boy, and I love you so much.” Gentle hands cupped Zuko’s face, titling his head up, and Sokka’s lips brushed gently over each eye, down Zuko’s scarred cheek, to press their lips together for brief kiss, entirely too quick and soft for Zuko to stand.

Zuko was aching, his dick hard and heavy, leaking between his legs, the flow of pre-come and semen almost constant, and he did not want gentle right now. He wanted Sokka, filling his mouth, choking him with his size; wanted Sokka’s hands on him, everywhere, doing anything; wanted Sokka brutally pounding into him, thrusts quick and deep and hitting just right every time. He wanted Sokka to make him come in the most physical and obscene ways he could imagine. But his hands were still bound behind him, and his legs were still shaking and uncooperative, and he couldn’t get close to Sokka without permission, despite his overwhelming need and frustration and desperation and honestly he might come from any sort of contact, really. But he stared at Sokka’s pants, and he glanced at Sokka’s face, and felt Sokka’s eyes on him, felt Sokka’s heat surrounding him, and he was taking steadying breaths—until Sokka stepped back out of Zuko’s face and space and heat. Zuko didn’t know how much more of this he could take, was sure that this had happened before, not long ago, but his mind was hazy with need and desire and those damn phantom touches were coming back as his hopes were raised and killed once more. He was on the verge of a breaking point, but he didn’t know or understand what would break, what would shatter, and thought it might be his sanity, but then Sokka was back, again, but behind him, and Zuko liked this, too, but he still wanted to take Sokka in his mouth, to taste him and smell him and suck him and swallow what he could.

Sokka’s hands brushed against the shirt gathered about his wrists, rubbing gently at his forearms, whispering praise and compliments and love in his ears and across his back. Sokka worked him back down, calming and soothing, as he undid the belt, removed the wrinkled and wet shirt. When the bonds were gone, Sokka returned to crouch in front of Zuko. He took each arm, one at a time, and kissed his way up, from hand to elbow, and back down. He did this until Zuko’s breathing began to stabilize again; until his mind was less muddled. Finally, Sokka stepped back once more.

“How are you?” Blue eyes assessed Zuko, even as the voice Sokka questioned with was light.

Zuko shrugged slightly from his place on the floor. “I’m fine. But I’d be a hell of a lot better if you got over here are let me blow you, you bastard.” Zuko focused on meeting Sokka’s eyes, on keeping his voice even, on not reaching down and grabbing himself before he even had the chance to touch Sokka, before Sokka had the chance to touch him.

Sokka smiled down at him and very deliberately undid the button of his suit pants. The sound of the zipper sliding seemed to echo in Zuko’s ears, and suddenly he was as frenzied as before, his breath and pulse speeding up without thought or warning. Sokka pulled himself free of the cotton of his boxers, pulling the waistband low under his balls. He stroked himself slowly, once, twice, watching Zuko’s face with rapt attention, and Zuko watched him back. Watched his face and his eyes and the motion of his hand as it slid along his cock, already so wet, the pearling beads of come the tip sliding and spread by Sokka’s dark fingers on even darker skin. Zuko felt his mouth go dry, as if this were the first time he had ever seen Sokka stroke himself, his thumb pausing to twirl and press at the head, the slight twist of his wrist as he reached the base, and Zuko wanted it, in him, in his mouth, in his ass, anywhere he could have it, as long as it was right now.

“Zuko,” Sokka whispered, the same way he said it before he came, and Zuko’s eyes widened. He stared at Sokka as the man released his hold on his dick. “Would you like your reward?” Sokka reached his hand, the one that he had just used to stroke himself, towards Zuko. Zuko caught one finger in his mouth and sucked, licking what little taste he could from Sokka’s finger.

“More,” Zuko murmured, crawling forwards on shaking hands and feet to press his face into Sokka’s crotch, nose pressed between the base of Sokka’s erection and the joint of his thigh. Zuko breathed in, his nose prickling with Sokka’s scent, Sokka’s heat, and the slight damp of the area. When he released his breath, the curls around his nose bent, and Sokka twitched. He inched his lips closer to Sokka’s cock, his nose brushing across sensitive skin, causing Sokka to shudder. Finally, he reached his goal.

Zuko placed a chaste peck on the base of Sokka’s dick. The skin was warm and damp, and Zuko nosed into it, trying to fill his senses with it, before he pulled away slightly. Even as he pulled away, he allowed himself to brush against Sokka, soft touches of his cheek or nose or lips against sensitive skin. It was almost like revenge, but much sweeter—it was love. When Zuko reached the head of Sokka’s cock, he gave it another chaste peck, before he opened his lips around it. He slid his mouth over the head, running his tongue across it, pressing the tip of it against Sokka’s urethra, swirling it against the smooth head and the rougher sides, even as he bobbed forward, taking more into his mouth.

Zuko hollowed his cheeks, bobbed forward, licking and sucking, rocking on his hands and knees, as he opened his mouth wider, worked to fit more of Sokka into himself. He relaxed his throat, moving forward with a calm and assurance that belied the throbbing and dripping of his cock between his legs and the pulsing and twitching of his asshole. Finally, finally, finally, he was able to swallow Sokka’s dick, his nose almost pressing against the curls below Sokka’s navel. Zuko could feel Sokka’s hips twitching, the spasms travelling through his thighs, as he held himself back from thrusting into the warmth and wet of Zuko’s mouth and throat; Sokka’s hands wrapped themselves in Zuko’s hair, pressed bruises into his shoulders and collar, ran across Zuko’s face and forehead and any other part of Zuko he could touch, and Zuko moaned. The vibrations of it shook Sokka, and he thrust once, quick and shallow, before he could hold himself still—but that was what Zuko wanted, for Sokka to thrust into him, however he liked, and the pleased sounds that escaped Zuko set them both on fire.

Sokka shoved Zuko’s face a little, his warning rushed and jumbled, before he began to thrust forward. Zuko held his mouth and throat open, breathing quick breaths through his nose, angling his head this way and that, being careful of his teeth and his tongue, until Sokka slowed again, allowed Zuko to retake control. Zuko stilled, Sokka’s cock heavy on his tongue, filling his mouth, breathing deeply and ensuring that he could continue. His throat felt raw and his lips felt stretched, but neither to the point that he couldn’t continue for just a little longer. This was his reward, after all; waste not, want not—and he did not want to waste a second of his time with Sokka hard and aching in his mouth.

Zuko resumed his ministrations, tongue gliding, cheeks hollowing, pulling and popping and bobbing, teasing the head and tip and foreskin. Zuko took him deep two more times, savouring the slow drag to the back of his throat, the taste and feel across his tongue and the roof of his mouth, the smell of the skin above Sokka’s dick, everything about it. But he knew he was too raw already, and there was more he could do with a cock in his mouth, so he pulled back, releasing Sokka with a wet pop, a trail of spit and semen connecting his bottom lip to the tip of Sokka’s dick. Zuko raised his eyes to meet Sokka’s, his lust and need and want and everything reflected in the blue eyes watching him in half-lidded amazement.

“More?” Sokka questioned, his eyes glinting. Zuko’s hips were shaking and thrusting against the air again, his cock bouncing with each thrust, and still leaking and dripping, and how had he not come yet? Zuko couldn’t even think about his own need until he was satisfied, and that blow job had hardly cut it.

“More,” Zuko repeated, before quickly taking Sokka back into his mouth. He was quicker this time, more urgent, rubbing and jerking and twisting with one hand on the base of Sokka’s erection, pressing the head into the sides of his mouth, sucking and licking at the head and tip and as much of it as he could fit in his mouth. Zuko shuffled forward so that he knelt before Sokka, one hand on the other man’s dick, the other clutching the back of Sokka’s thigh to keep him steady, even as his legs wobbled and trembled and his cock ached and wept.

Zuko continued at his merciless pace until Sokka began to pant and babble and whisper his name in that way he had, at which point Zuko quickly backed off, following the directions of Sokka’s hands twisted in his hair, pulling his face from his groin. Zuko panted, his lips inches from Sokka’s glistening cock, covered in pre-come and saliva, and Zuko wanted to swallow it again, force Sokka to come in his mouth, taste everything as it poured into him and down his throat. Zuko gulped, lips wet and parted, restrained only by Sokka’s firm hands, as the other man panted above him.

“If I come before you do,” Sokka warned, focusing on Zuko’s face, Zuko’s eyes, “then you’ll only get fingers in your ass. If you can live with that, you can keep going.” With that, Sokka released his grip on Zuko’s head, allowing him to decide.

Zuko sat on the floor, calves under himself, thighs spread wide, so close to coming, and all he could think was how badly he wanted Sokka inside of him. He didn’t care if it was his mouth or his ass—but even as he thought it his opening twitched and pulsed, and he wanted to be filled, he wanted to feel Sokka and feel full. He met Sokka’s eyes, that deep blue peering down at him, then stood, legs weak and wobbly, and returned to his desk, returned to bending over his desk, arms braced against it, chest pressed almost flat to its surface, hips raised, thighs spread, ass shaking, twitching and excited.

Zuko could hear Sokka’s groan, could feel him stumble over. Sokka’s hands pressed firmly into Zuko’s hips, one hand leaving, then the other, and Zuko was prepared for the feeling of wet fingers on his ass; he was not prepare for the sensation as Sokka’s tongue pressed against his opening, pushed its way inside him. Zuko had to press his lips into his arm to muffle his scream, and it took all his concentration not to come on the spot—as much as he was aching to come, wishing to come, he wanted it to be when he was stuffed full, filled to the brim, not when Sokka’s tongue teased and opened and stretched him wider. He couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting, back arching, trying to force Sokka’s intrusion deeper, to feel that wet heat and warm tongue farther inside. And then Sokka paused his licking and forcing and deeper, and Zuko sighed and whined and wanted him to continue and wanted him to add his fingers and wanted him to just thrust in and break him when suddenly he was keening and he was helpless and so, so loud. Zuko whipped his head around, his breathing ragged, the sounds he had made still echoing through his ears, and what had Sokka even done, that had never happened before—but Sokka was back to licking, and now there was a finger or two circling him rim, slowly and carefully prying him loose, preparing him to take in Sokka with a single thrust.

Just as Zuko was settling, growing steadily more relaxed even as his cock twitched and ached and wept, and he panted and moaned and sighed, three fingers sliding easily in and out of him, Sokka’s lips and tongue pressing against his lower back and hips, Sokka pulled away. Zuko expected to feel Sokka’ erection against him, to feel that slick hardness against his cleft and sliding into his hole, but instead Sokka’s lips returned to Zuko’s entrance, his tongue swirling and digging and dragging. Zuko was thrusting wildly in a matter of seconds, whining for Sokka to “stop being a fucking tease and just fucking fuck me already, you goddamn fucker” and that he needed him now, right this second, ten minutes ago, hours ago, forever, please just hurry up and put your big fat cock in me. But Sokka just laughed, and Zuko could feel the snort and breath of it against his ass, and that was equal parts strange and extremely hot and oh god oh god he was in so fucking deep and how could Sokka’s tongue even reach there, and Zuko is twitching and thrusting and humping the air and it is a worse state than he had been in at any point so far—

Then Sokka did that thing again and Zuko was crying out, shaking and shuddering and coming all over the inside of his desk and on his office floor and he sagged, his orgasm so sudden and blinding after what felt like an eternity of build-up, after being so so so close for so so so long, too long, far too long, that he was positive he blacked out or whited out or something for a second. He was back after hardly a full second, aftershocks still racking his frame, his body slumped heavily against the desk, and Sokka still licking and thrusting and eating his ass, as if he couldn’t tell that Zuko just had one of the biggest, best, longest, hardest orgasms of his entire life mere seconds ago.

Sokka was gentle and soothing and warm and wet inside him, hands rubbing light circles overs his hips and back and thighs, but that tongue, that stimulation, was still pushing Zuko into oversensitivity. His throat felt broken from the shout of his release, he had no muscle left to support himself, and he was still shaking and trembling and shuddering all over, aftershocks still occasionally jerking him—and then Sokka said something, his mouth pressed to Zuko’s entrance, his tongue still buried inside.

“What?” Zuko groaned, trying to turn his head, to peer at Sokka. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Didn’t your Grangran teach you any manners?”

Sokka spluttered, quickly pulling his face out from between Zuko’s cheeks. “First of all,” he glared at Zuko, “don’t you know better than to talk about Grangran during sex? How would you feel if I suddenly mentioned Uncle Iroh when you have a raging hard on? Seriously, think a little.” Zuko opened his mouth to protest, to offer that he was trying to kill Sokka’s mood, because he sure as hell didn’t want to do it oversensitive after an orgasm like that—when Sokka continued. “And I was asking if you liked that? By that, I mean, did you like being eaten out? So, did you like it?” Sokka’s blue eyes shone with hope, and Zuko flopped back onto the desk with a sigh.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “it was pretty damn amazing. What were you even doing down there? Not the licking, the other thing?”

Sokka snorted. “That’s when I sucked. I’ve gotta say, though, I had no idea that’d make you come. I just liked the noises you made the first time I did it.” Zuko chuckled as well, muttering under his breath. “Pardon?” Sokka asked, but Zuko just shook his head. No way was he repeating that stupid comment—I like those noises too; I wonder if you can make them?—the last thing he needed was to make Sokka think another round, reversed, was the plan. “So, can I put it in?” Sokka asked conversationally. Zuko just sighed and nodded. The aftershocks were all done, the peak of the oversensitivity had passed; besides, it wouldn’t be the first time that the pair of them had pushed through oversensitivity, and they tended to have fun with it. “Thanks, babe,” Sokka breathed, pressing soft kisses into his hair.

“You know I love you; let’s get on with it—I don’t want to be in these clothes at the sentencing.” Zuko muttered, cheeks burning with the admission. It wasn’t the first time he’d told Sokka he loves him; it was well past the hundredth, the thousandth, even, but it never stopped making him blush, make the butterflies swarm and the blood rush to his head. But when Sokka leaned down and placed firm, open-mouthed kisses along each one of his vertebrae, Zuko felt his blood begin to rush elsewhere.

Sokka returned to licking his way into Zuko’s ass, spreading it wide with his fingers, until three fingers were moving in and out quickly and Zuko was an overstimulated wreck. Neither took very long. Then Sokka stood, reached forward, and gently turned Zuko over, so that his back was flat against the desk, his legs draped over one of Sokka’s hips, the other cradled in one of his elbows. Facing each other, Sokka lined himself up, settled, and looked to Zuko for confirmation. Zuko nodded once, taking a deep breath and relaxing on the exhale. In that one moment, when Zuko was perfectly relaxed, soft and pliant despite the overstimulation and oversensitivity, Sokka pushed himself in, all the way to the hilt, in a single thrust.

Zuko’s cry died in his throat, swallowed as a gasp and chased by Sokka’s lips as they pressed against his. This was how Sokka preferred to have sex with him—to look at his face, to meet his eyes, to kiss him with every thrust deeper, to hold him close and stroke his hair and gaze at him with love and ardour and all that sappy, romantic crap. And, honestly, this is how Zuko liked it best too; this was making love, and it only happened, had only ever happened, with Sokka. He looked past Zuko’s family and money and problems and status and scars and saw Zuko, as he was, and he loved Zuko for who he was. Zuko was able to see that love in Sokka’s eyes, on Sokka’s face, in the words he spoke, in his tone of voice, in how he called his name, and that was so amazing, so wonderful, and every time they had sex like this, Zuko ended up crying. Not big tears at orgasm, but quiet tears of joy and peace and little bit of heartbreak, because there is always heartbreak in having to wait until you’re an adult to understand that you have a right to be loved by others, and there is always a bit of heartbreak in having to look for confirmation of Sokka’s love every time they have sex, as if it weren’t freely shown and given at every occasion.

Sokka’s thrusts were deep and fast and wild, and all Zuko could do was hold on and try to keep up, even as the oversensitivity blinded him and his spent cock hardened and ached. Sokka’s mouth and skin and hands and body and movement and heat and voice engulfed Zuko, and soon he could sense nothing outside of Sokka—Sokka consumed him, surrounded him, and Zuko couldn’t live without it for a second. They were both panting and gasping, half-phrases and unformed thoughts dying on their tongues and floating in the moist air they created. Then Sokka was saying his name in that way: “Zuko Zuko Zukozukozuko—” and there was heat and wet and other sensations pooling in Zuko as Sokka came inside him. And feeling of Sokka coming inside him, the tension he built by calling Zuko’s name, the soft kisses he pressed thoughtlessly on any and every part of Zuko he could reach, even as he collapsed in exhaustion and while rocking with aftershocks, all sent Zuko over the steep edge that been building, and he came dry and shuddering, Sokka’s name a scream on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> So there we go! Please let me know what you thought, and how I could improve. I'll make a note if I ever get around to fixing the tense things (hopefully you didn't notice them)...  
> This all started because I thought about Fire Lord Zuko bent over a table and taken from behind--it quickly evolved into a 6.6K fic that is almost entirely BDSM foreplay... I am so thirsty for Zukka oh man.  
> You can yell at me about my poorly written porn on tumblr: [(ironic) yolo](https://ahhhnorealnamesallowed.tumblr.com)


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